Mother's Day

On January 7, 2014, my life changed forever when Habibi and I welcomed our baby Hulk into the world.  After three months of violent "all day" sickness, six additional months of a low-risk-but-high-intensity pregnancy, about 22 hours of labor, four hours of pushing (at least two and a half to three of which involved crowning), a third degree "starburst" tear, and one operation later, I was finally able to hold my wiggly little girl.

I worked hard to earn the title of "ummi."

As I was going through pregnancy, labor and delivery, and the subsequent postpartum period, I didn't realize that my experience was unusual; I simply thought that everything I went through was standard procedure.  It wasn't until later on when my somewhat befuddled doctor informed me that I ended up having more sutures "down there" than I would have had I opted for a voluntary c-section, or that most women don't push for four hours and tear that bad, or that my plumbing is atypical, that I realized what I'd gone through to bring Hulk into the world.  There were times after I had returned home that I wished for another epidural.  Scratch that:  I needed a horse tranquilizer.

Now that I have almost fully recovered from labor and delivery, I have learned that I still have a long road ahead.  After over two months postpartum, I could not figure out why I still looked about four or five months pregnant.  I gained 28 pounds during pregnancy (almost smack in the middle of the recommended 25-35 pounds), and have lost all but the last ten pounds or so (which, to my dismay, are spread throughout my entire body).  This wouldn't account for such a large bulge in my midsection, would it?

Absolutely not.  As it turns out, I have the worst case of diastasis recti my doctor has seen in his 30+ year career.  Once again, I have proven to be a medical enigma.  Many women get this dreaded "mummy tummy" postpartum, but few have to be referred to a physical therapist to rectify it.

Even fewer have nurses suggest surgery to them...before they are even discharged from the hospital with their babies.

Pre-pregnancy

Still had a good two and half weeks
to go at this point!

I was never deluded enough to think that I'd bounce back immediately -or perhaps ever- to my pre-pregnancy shape, but it stings a little to know that I would more or less resemble my former self were it not for my flayed abdomen exposing my intestines.  (Yes, I can literally watch myself digesting breakfast.  It's cryptic.)  My inability to use my abdominal muscles has created quite a challenge for a variety of things:  playing on the floor, getting out of bed, breastfeeding, etc.  Furthermore, it frustrates me to no end when I walk into a coffee shop, carrying my baby in her car seat, only to have the barista ask me, "How far along are you?"  Can I hold up my baby in front of my belly and reply "negative three months" without sounding bitchy?

So what if I can't.  She's the moron who thinks that a pregnant woman typically carries her unborn baby in a car seat on the outside of her body.

As this Mother's Day approaches, I am eager to claim it for the first time.  After all that I have been through, I feel that I truly deserve more than some corny coffee mug that reads "#1 Mom."   (I realize that may sound prematurely ungrateful, but I don't care.  I did not put in all the time and effort towards growing and feeding a baby -all with my own body- for such a trashy gift.)  Granted, I would repeat every miserable moment of it for one glimpse of my beautiful girl, but I'm looking forward to the once-a-year recognition that I'm truly a badass woman with stamina, grace, and an unusually large appetite for pancakes at brunch.